


reach my hands out in the dark

by galaxylane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Becho are already broken up in this, Emotional Sex, F/M, Mild Smut, Post-Josephine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:19:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxylane/pseuds/galaxylane
Summary: Josephine is finally gone, and Bellamy and Clarke figure out where that leaves them.





	reach my hands out in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:  
> 1) This is kind of a sequel to my fic "What remains", but you don't have to read that to get this.  
> 2) Becho have already broken up in this, but I didn't have the energy or will to dive into it in detail. Just know there's no infidelity here!  
> 3) Title inspired by "Don't Give Up On Me" by Andy Grammer, which is a total Bellarke song if you haven't hear it.

He isn’t sure what he’s expecting when the chip is removed from the back of Clarke’s neck, but it isn’t a deafening silence. Clarke lays limp and unresponsive on the table, and with each passing minute Bellamy feels the lump in his throat grow. Xavier is watching with crossed arms from across the room, looking grim. He can feel Octavia’s gaze on him as well, her unease barely palpable. He can hear Murphy utter a soft ‘fuck’ behind him but he ignores him. She’s still, save for the slight rise and fall of her chest. He slips his hand into hers, squeezing.

_Come on, Clarke._

_Wake up._

_Please._

He’s spent the past few days having his actions fueled by anger and outrage, so he hasn’t had to pay any attention to the grief and panic lurking just over his shoulder. Now with nothing left to do but watch the minutes tick by and _wait_ , he feels panic gripping his throat and stealing his breath away.

A few more minutes slip by and he can hear someone moving restlessly behind him.

“Bell -”

“Don’t.” His voice cracks. “Just -”

Clarke moves so suddenly that her hand is ripped from his as she sits upright.

She _screams_.

It’s a scream that pierces his chest, so full of anguish and pain that it takes his breath away. Her fingers come up to knot in her hair and he reaches for her reflexively, holding her wrists as he calls her name.

“Clarke! _Clarke_ , hey it’s okay -”

If she can hear him, she gives no indication. Eyes clenched shut, her screams eventually give way to shuddering gasps. He can feel her trembling underneath his palms. He abandons her wrists to take her face in his hands, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. She’s in pain and he’s not sure what to do, how to stop it.

“Clarke, look at me. Look at me!”

Slowly and with great effort, her eyes flutter open. Her gaze darts around the room wildly before snapping to him, blue meeting brown. He wants to reassure her again but can’t seem to find his voice.

“Bellamy?” she rasps, throat raw from screams. “Is this real?”

“Yeah, Clarke,” he manages, nodding with a sad smile. “It’s real, I promise.”

She sags against him then in relief and exhaustion and he holds her, fingers stroking her hair soothingly. He’s not sure which one of them is shaking, but it doesn’t matter.

She’s okay.

They’re okay.

 

*

The first rumbles of thunder are soft, muted in the small cabin when Bellamy steps inside. A storm is moving in from the south, and they’ve been informed by the Children of Gabriel that venturing out into the woods before the storm ends is a good way to guarantee an early death. They agree to stay until it passes, so Xavier had offered them an empty cabin for her to recover and weather the storm. He had left a conversation by the fire with Octavia and Murphy on how best to alert their people in Sanctum to check on her. Bellamy hesitates in the doorway for a fraction of a moment, studying her hunched figure where she sits.

When her blue eyes find his he finds himself unable to look away, searching. It's her, he tells himself. It’s a mantra he’s repeated since she woke up. He's reassured when her lips curve up in a soft smile so dissimilar to the one she'd worn before, when her eyes had lacked recognition and her smile was sharp and wolfish and so unlike Clarke.

It's her, he knows it is.

“Here,” he says, holding out a cup. When she eyes it warily he smiles, “It’s tea, not booze. Figured you wouldn’t want anything mind altering right now.”

His stomach swoops when she snorts at his terrible joke, taking the cup gratefully.

“How do you feel?” he asks softly. She seems to wilt at the question, and he shoves his hands deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out to her. It’s only been a few hours since she woke up, and she still seems skittish. He doesn’t want to crowd her so he quashes the voice in his head that is screaming for him to touch her, hold her like he did when she first woke up and make sure she’s real.

She looks up at him from her seat on the bed and gives him an uneven smile. “Strange,” she admits. “Kind of...disconnected from my body, I guess. I don’t remember anything from when she was in control.”

“From what I saw of her, maybe that’s for the best.”

She hums in response, flexing her fingers with a frown. “I guess. I just..I feel like my body still isn’t mine.”

Ice floods his stomach at that. “We removed the chip, Clarke. You think -”

“No,” she cuts him off gently with a shake of her head. “I don’t think she’s still in here. I know she’s not. I just meant that she was in control for so long I feel like I can’t quite anchor myself to my body. Like I’m still unattached.”

He swallows at that. He can’t imagine what it would have been like, losing herself like that for so long and against her will.

“I wasn’t aware of what she was doing,” Clarke says abruptly, not looking him in the eye. “but I wasn’t gone. Russell said I was going to be at peace, but I remember things. Nightmares...memories. It kind of blends together. I remember being in Mount Weather. I watched them all die. I saw people I care about suffer over and over and I couldn’t do anything. I thought I was in some kind of purgatory, or hell was real and I was stuck there.”

He watches Clarke clench and unclench her shaking hands again and can’t stop himself this time from reaching out and taking her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze and running his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. He sucks in a breath when she closes her eyes and sighs, looking relieved at the touch.

"That feels nice," she murmurs absently, in a way that makes him think she may not even realize she spoke aloud. She squeezes his hand in return and an emotion he’s been trying to bury since the moment he first found out she was alive consumes him.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he blurts out. He can hear the tremor in his own voice and is sure she can too.

Her eyes open and find his full of pain. “I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

His head jerks back at that. “Why are you apologizing?”

“For worrying you. For anything she did when she was in control.”

“You are _not_ responsible for anything she did. And I wasn’t worried, Clarke. I was fucking devastated.” She looks surprised by that, and it makes his heart lurch. Does she really not know what losing her would do to him? What it _has_ done to him? He hasn’t exactly been good at hiding it from everyone else, to the point it had recently prompted a long conversation with Echo that had ended their relationship. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He had tried to move forward, but found he couldn’t push away his feelings for Clarke no matter how hard he had tried. He had loved her for so long, even when he had thought she was dead; he wasn’t sure he knew how to stop even if he wanted to.

Clarke, somehow, doesn’t seem to see that. His mind wanders back to the fuzzy memory of the eclipse, angrily spitting out that he didn’t need her anymore. She deserves better than a lie, at least. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “When Octavia brought us here for help, they told us you were dead. They said there was nothing left of you, that that’s how it works when a Prime takes over.”

Clarke regards him in silence for a moment before saying softly, “You still tried, though.”

“Of course I did,” he says hoarsely. His hands come up to cup her face. “Clarke, of course I did.”

She goes still at the contact but doesn’t make any efforts to pull away, watching him with wide eyes.

“The last time we talked, before...before they took you,” he says shakily. “You told me we were family. You said that I was important to you. I should have said - I should have told you -”

“You don’t have to,” she cuts him off with a tremulous smile. “I’m okay now, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t -”

“Clarke. I do,” he says firmly. “I do. I think of all the times I should have and I didn’t, even before Praimfiya. I keep holding back and losing you and then hating myself for not telling you. I keep getting second chances and blowing it.”

“Bellamy.” Her voice cracks, her face open and vulnerable. He holds her heart in his hands in this moment, and he knows it, feels the weight of it.

“You’re my family too. Always have been. You’re so,” he swallows the lump in his throat, his fingers carding through her hair to anchor her to him, “you’re so fucking important to me, Clarke."

She sucks in a shaky breath, her hand coming up to rest over top of his. Bellamy's hand is still cupping her cheek and she feels his thumb start to rub soothingly over her cheekbone. A part of her still feels like it’s reeling, her mind trying desperately to catch up with the body it was ripped from, and his hand on her feels like a tether keeping her from drifting away again. The tender gesture feels so nice that she can't help the sigh that escapes her lips, her eyes fluttering shut as she leans into his touch. His fingers seem to falter a little, and when she opens her eyes again she notices that his eyes have darkened, pupils blown wide.

"Clarke..." His gravelly voice gives an almost imperceptible waver.

After Praimfaya, when the Earth had healed itself enough for her to lay out under the stars and look up at the sky, she would think about him and all the moments that were _almosts_. She went over every interaction that could have been something more, if it wasn’t for duty and guilt and the world constantly threatening to end. She had never let herself go there before, too caught up in trying to do what was right for her people to ever take the time for them. She had always tucked it away, convincing herself that one day they might have time.

For once, she doesn't give herself time to overthink it. She turns her head just enough to press a lingering kiss against the palm of the hand cradling her cheek. She hears a sharp intake of breath before he moves his hand to the back of her neck, drawing her in and pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. It's gentle and sweet, the kind of first kiss that makes her want to melt into him. It almost brings tears to her eyes, because she can't remember the last time someone was this soft with her, touching her in a way that made her feel cherished. She had long ago stopped thinking she deserved it.

She remembers, as he parts her lips with his, that there was another reason she had never let herself go there with Bellamy all those years ago. A small part of her had always been afraid that if they did it would be like catching fire, all consuming and uncontrollable.

But she’s burned before, and never as pleasantly as this.

 

 

Bellamy’s mind is racing, and for the first time in a while it isn’t from fear or anger. He wonders how the hell Russell had thought they would be able to pull it off, even short term. It’s insane that he had expected Josephine to be able to pass for Clarke. Josephine had been a pale imitation of the woman in his arms, who is currently tangling her fingers in his curls to pull him impossibly closer. When Josephine had looked at him, it was calculating, almost mocking. She had clearly judged herself to be a god among men. When Clarke looks at him her gaze holds so much emotion - understanding, affection, and something else he’d never recognized until now - that he nearly drowns in it.

It’s the same expression she’s regarding him with now as his fingers deftly unbutton the back of the dress Josephine had dressed her in, her hands slipping under the hem of his shirt to graze his abdomen. She tugs at his shirt and he draws back just long enough to help her tug the garment over his head before his mouth drops to her now bare shoulder, her dress pooling to the floor. His hands map their way from her shoulders down to her hips, sliding back up over the soft skin of her stomach to cup her breasts. She lets out a sharp gasp, her hands pausing on the small of his back before giving his ass a squeeze. He lets out a breathless laugh at that, quickly cut short when he feels her fingers curve into the waistband of his boxers. She takes a few steps backwards towards the bed, tugging him along with her.

She lands softly on the mattress and he follows her down, their clothes a forgotten pile on the floor. He can’t look away from her, even as he presses open mouthed kisses down her sternum before settling between her thighs. Clarke’s body nearly bows off the bed when he puts his mouth on her, and he throws his arm over her hips to keep her still. Her fingers abandon the sheets to twist in his hair instead and he hums his encouragement against her. He memorizes every soft sound she makes as he brings her to the edge, every tiny expression that crosses her face as she falls apart, knowing that if everyone else had been right about her being gone, he never would have known her like this. He would have been left with nothing but _what ifs_ and his tortured imagination as he had been up on the Ring. As if sensing his thoughts she opens her eyes and pulls him back up to her, chasing away the dread with a sweet kiss that quickly turns desperate.

“Bellamy,” she whispers when he pulls away momentarily to rest his forehead against hers. He loves the way she says his name, in that way only she can, soft and loving and loaded with their shared history. Once again his heart leaps at the knowledge that it really is her, that she came back to him again against all odds.

“Clarke,” he murmurs back, mildly aware that his voice is more than a little wrecked.

Her hands move down to tug at his boxers and he lifts off her to help. They’re moving faster than he would like, and a part of him wants to slow down and take his time with her like he’s always imagined, but Clarke is having none of it.

“Please,” she gasps, as his fingers tease her again. “Bellamy please, I just want to feel you.”

He nods, knowing he can’t form a verbal response at the moment; he is not about to argue with that. He moves his hand to grip her hip as she guides him inside her and then he’s consumed by the sensation of her around him, under him. Clarke isn’t faring any better if her soft moans are any indication. Her fingers untangle from his hair, her palms sweeping over his shoulders and down his back, slick with sweat and the humid air. He shivers at the sensation as they move together, mouthing words against her collarbone, the crook of her neck, anywhere he can reach.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

“I love you,” he pants, just as her body arches up off the bed, her cry lost in a rumble of thunder. He can’t help but follow her over the edge, and she holds him as he trembles, as he comes back to himself.

“I love you too,” she whispers.

He would follow her anywhere.

 

*

The thunder is faint now, the storm having mostly moved on overhead. Clarke listens to the raindrops on the roof with her eyes closed, lost in the sensation of Bellamy’s fingers running through her hair. She’s tucked into his side, her head on his chest as she traces patterns on his skin.

She’d felt so numb when she had first woken up from Josephine’s reign.

Now she feels _everything_.

He drops a kiss to her shoulder and she sighs, reluctantly breaking the soft spell that seems to have settled over them.

“Bellamy.”

“Hm?”

She turns in his arms so that she can look him in the eye, fingers running along his jaw. “I have to go back.”

He frowns. “Clarke, the second they figure out you’re not their daughter anymore - “

“So I’ll pretend to be Josephine for a little bit. You saw her, talked to her. You can tell me enough to get by. If I don’t come back they’re going to be suspicious. We need to get our people out of Sanctum.”

“I can do that. You don’t need to put yourself in danger for that,” he argues. His hand flexes on her back and she can see the fear in his eyes.

“It’s not just that,” she whispers, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing gesture. “I know what it’s like now to be erased. They’ve done that to other people, Bellamy. There are Primes walking around that city who have taken other people’s lives from them. If there’s a chance they’re still in there too, if we can help them -”

He’s shaking his head. “Clarke, no. It’s too dangerous. We -” His voice cracks and he lets out a shaky breath, eyes pressing shut for a second before finding hers again. “I just got you back. How many times am I going to have to lose you?”

Her stomach sinks at that. "You won't."

“Eventually there will be a time when I won’t get you back. I barely did this time.”

Her heart aches at the anguish in his voice. She gets it. She’s asked herself the same question. They have lost so many people, and yet somehow they keep managing to come back to each other against all odds. She’s terrified, because she knows deep down that he's right. There has to be a limit to how many times the universe will give them another chance.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” she says softly. “But you know we can’t do nothing. Monty told us to do better. To be the good guys. We didn’t start this war, but we might be able to stop it. Maybe that’s the best thing we can do with our second chance.”

He sighs, pulling her hand from where it’s anchored in his hair and drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her fingers. She’s so overcome with affection for him in that moment that she has to silently remind herself of all the reasons they can’t just stay here in this cabin, in this moment indefinitely.

“You know I’m right,” she whispers.

“I know,” he concedes. “We’ll go back. But not yet. We’ll leave when the storm passes. Then we can meet up with the others and make a plan.”

“Okay,” she agrees, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before settling back in beside him. She knows that tomorrow they’ll go back to Sanctum together, that they’ll inevitably do what needs to be done just as they always had. But tonight belongs to them, and they have no intention of wasting it on anything other than each other.

She thinks the universe can afford them that much.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


End file.
